


So Little Time

by LuvEwan



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, M/M, Qui-Gon Lives, Star-crossed love, Time Travel, Tumblr Prompt, uncontrollable time travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-26 23:04:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20750237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuvEwan/pseuds/LuvEwan
Summary: The healers had no diagnosis to offer, except a vague theory that Obi-Wan expended too much of himself in his desperation to save Qui-Gon from the Sith’s blade. He was not meant to push so far, spread himself so thin, thin enough to fall between cracks in the Force, in Time itself.Obi-Wan fell.





	So Little Time

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a tumblr prompt (time travel+ reunion+ Obi-Wan/Qui-Gon) from the lovely itsglumblebee.
> 
> I’m luvvewan on tumblr. Come say hi! Drop me a prompt!

“We live in time so little time  
And we learn all so painfully,  
That we may spare this hour's term  
To practice for eternity.” -Robert Penn Warren

\--------

Qui-Gon woke all at once, but remained still on the sleeping mat. He felt the cold, hard earth beneath him, life vibrating through layers of sediment and root and the cloth of his tunics, straight to his heart, and he knew. It always felt the same, like the Force itself had placed an electric finger to his chest. He wanted to throw aside the blankets and run out into the night, for their time so rarely came, and they never knew how long it would last. 

He spared a moment to glance over at Anakin, who slumbered on, long legs and long braid sprawled across his mat. He slept with the thick muddiness of a boy half-broken from the shell of his childhood. He would be upset Qui-Gon had not roused him. 

The abrupt absences and sudden reappearances had made the Jedi Master possessive, and so he carefully extracted himself from his makeshift bed, crawling past Anakin and emerging from the tent. The forest was dark, in the midst of a nocturnal hush, except for the soft, reliable drone of insects, and the leaves crushing beneath a pair of boots.

Qui-Gon stood by the tent, stomach tight. He kindled the fervent hope that this reunion would linger more than a night. How intolerable it was becoming, as he grew older, and his patience was rewarded with minutes--on many occasions, only minutes, mere scraps, just enough to entwine fingers and share a few hurried words--and then Obi-Wan would look at him with those gray, knowing eyes, and the electricity receded, and Qui-Gon would be alone. 

He tried to hide his sadness from Obi-Wan. He tried now, smiling, walking towards the man with his arms outstretched. 

Obi-Wan tended to look drawn and bewildered when he arrived from...wherever it was that he went, the mysterious corridors he traveled but never described in detail. Qui-Gon could not imagine the disorientation. The first time Obi-Wan had returned, Qui-Gon held his former apprentice in a dark room for hours, pressing his solid fingers against clammy skin and reminding Obi-Wan he was solid too. Alive. 

“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon called and finally closed the near-perpetual gap between them. He cradled the bearded face in his wide hands, and wiped at Obi-Wan’s watery, unfocused eyes with his thumbs. “ Thank the Force,” he whispered in ritual greeting. He heard his voice crack, but blamed it on the late hour. 

Slowly, Obi-Wan lifted his hands, resting them on Qui-Gon’s forearms. His touch was bitterly cold. The moonlight made his pallor more sallow, sharpened the silver glints in his hair. 

“Where am I?” Obi-Wan asked, looking at the trees and anonymous sky behind Qui-Gon. 

“Venaari”, Qui-Gon supplied. He anticipated the next question, another line in the script of their reunions. He motioned his head toward the tent. “Anakin is sixteen. Nearly seventeen.”

Obi-Wan absorbed the information with the detached quickness of a man accustomed to missing months, or years. If he was upset, it manifested as a fleeting grey moth in the Force, there and gone again. He cleared his throat. “Is there…”

“Of course,” Qui-Gon said. He let the relief wash over him, and led Obi-Wan to the small camp. 

——-

Obi-Wan sat on the husk of an old tree stump, teeth chattering. When Qui-Gon passed him a water bulb, he drank deeply, without pausing, water dribbling from the sides of his mouth and soaking into his beard. 

Qui-Gon sat beside him. He watched Obi-Wan’s hand quake, his left boot tapping restlessly. 

_“In the journey, I am taken apart. But things never seem to go back the way they were.”___

_ _Obi-Wan had told Qui-Gon that once, and he saw that it was true. Anakin noticed it too, likening Obi-Wan to a reassembled droid whose parts were _wonky_. The Padawan recalled an ill-fated protocol unit on Tatooine, and how it had run into corners, or shook when asked to perform a rudimentary task, until, mercifully, its owner scrapped it for good. _ _

_ _Anakin was a child in many ways, and could be forgiven for the occasional lapse in tact. He was also fiercely protective of Obi-Wan, who saved Qui-Gon’s life at the expense of his own happiness, his stability, his career among the Jedi. _ _

_ _Qui-Gon was grateful for the sacrifice. He had to be. What else could he say? _I would rather have died than watch you slip away, again and again? __ _

_ _He squeezed Obi-Wan’s knee, in comfort, and to ease the compulsive tremors. “Can you share anything with me?” _ _

_ _Obi-Wan folded his robe close to his body, and stared out at the yellow moonscape. “I can’t...that is…” he shook his head, and looked sidelong at Qui-Gon. “It’s become difficult to remember.” He coughed. “I was mostly alone, and things were...difficult.”_ _

_ _The words hung ominously in the night air. A fog, unable to be cleared. Qui-Gon struggled to respond, and felt foolish, for when Obi-Wan was apart from him, he spoke to him throughout the day, carrying on entire conversations within his mind, imagining what his former student would say, the dry jokes and graceful wit. He confessed his fears, frustration. Love. That was the root of everything, the most electric touch, that vitalized and made vulnerable the deepest places inside Qui-Gon Jinn._ _

_ _He loved Obi-Wan. As much as he missed him. _ _

_ _While they were on the same plane, Obi-Wan sensed him better than anyone could, even Anakin. He laid his slender hand over Qui-Gon’s. “I’m sorry,” He intoned softly. “I wish...I’m so tired, Master.”_ _

_ _Qui-Gon thought of the droid on Tatooine. His chest ached. He stood, helping Obi-Wan into the tent. _ _

_ _——_ _

_ _The healers had no diagnosis to offer, except a vague theory that Obi-Wan expended too much of himself in his desperation to save Qui-Gon from the Sith’s blade. He was not meant to push so far, spread himself so thin, thin enough to fall between cracks in the Force, in Time itself. _ _

_ _Obi-Wan fell. _ _

_ _Qui-Gon could not catch him. He came and went, lost between the past and the future. The only solace came in the fact that Obi-Wan always found Qui-Gon again. _ _

_ _——_ _


End file.
